It Has a Name
by SineTimore
Summary: Beckett learns something about herself from Castle. Naturally, she's skeptical. Just look at the source. *one shot*


**Disclaimer:** I need a genie.

**AN:** Sunday nights can suck it.

* * *

_**It Has a Name**_

He pulls her body against his, their fit like the only puzzle pieces ever designed to align so perfectly. Her leather weekend bag falls to the floor with a thud, a victim of their enthusiastic embrace. He breaks from her for just seconds to close the door behind her but they aren't apart for long, her need to refill after three days of missing contact requiring his immediate and prolonged attention.

"God, I've missed you," he whispers between samples of her lips. "Sounds as though you've missed me too, Detective Beckett," he contends with a self-satisfied grin. His hands grip her hips tightly as he leans in for another taste but he stumbles, the target of his impending overture having inched backwards while his eyes were gently closed. "Kate? What's wrong?" he inquires, anxious to resume the long-awaited business at hand.

"What did you mean by that, Castle? And, what was with that smug grin?"

Not five minutes into their reunion and he's already done something to piss her off. Sadly, he's aware, that's not a record.

"Really? I haven't seen you in, like, seventy-five hours, not that I was counting. Do you really want to _talk_ right now?" He tries to take the step back towards her but her hand lands flat on his chest in disapproval.

"You're the one that started this, Castle. Now, spill it," she commands, sounding every bit the tough NYPD detective.

"Okay, fine, but only because you asked so nicely," he quips sarcastically. "You just…you do this thing sometimes when you kiss me."

"Define _thing_," she grumbles.

"It's just this sound that you make." He can't help but smile. "It's this tiny little sound but it might as well be the roar of a lion. And, you make it sometimes and I can feel it against my lips and it's like this vibration and it tingles and I know in that second that you want-"

"Castle!" she interrupts. "Uh, first, thank you for that thorough explanation. Second, I have no idea what you're talking about. Sounds as though your writer's imagination has gotten the better of you…again," she chuckles, trying to play it off.

Shit. He's a damn writer. Of course he notices every damn thing. But, she couldn't possibly. Could she?

"Are you serious?" he squeals incredulously. "You think I'm making this up? Well, let me just say that denial is _not_ a pretty color on you, Ms. Beckett."

Feigning umbrage, he leans down to pick up her bag and swivels toward the bedroom.

"And just where do you think you're going, Writer Boy? We're not done here," she insists.

"Wow, so you're in denial _and_ bossy. I'm a lucky man tonight." He lets the bag drop once again and spins back around to face her. She's now standing just inches from him. "Um, okay, add stealthy to that list too."

"I'd like to hear for myself what your delusion sounds like, so I'm going to need a demonstration, Castle. Let's go." She wets her lips in preparation.

"A what, now?" he replies, though he knows well what she's asking of him. He's stalling. This could get embarrassing. "Are you asking me to try to recreate the Kate-Beckett-Don't-Ever-Stop-Kissing-Me-Sound for you?"

Wait a second, this could get fun.

"Oh, please tell me that you haven't named it, Castle. Wait, not that it's an _it_, which it isn't. At all. Can we just get on with it? What do you need from me to make this happen?" Her noticeably pink cheeks and her endearing fluster are almost more than he can bear.

"Well, I can see that this exercise is going to be quite romantic." Again, sarcasm. He cracks his neck to the left and to the right as if in preparation for a bout in the ring before he focuses his gaze upon her. "I, Kate Beckett for the sake of this farce, am going to kiss you, Richard Castle – wow, this is weird. What I need from you, as Richard Castle, is simply to be the very best kisser the world has ever seen, as always. Also, listen carefully and take mental notes because in a few minutes, you're going to owe me an apology. And, tonight, that apology will come in the form of my choosing."

"Oh, will you just stop tal-"

Her words are swallowed by his sudden and insistent kiss. His right hand slides up the back of her neck as his left presses her tight against his middle. They twist gently back and forth, seemingly unaware of the motion but relenting to it all the same. Her fingers tickle down his cheek and find a home clenched in the cotton of the tee along his shoulder. Their mouths open against each other, their soft tongues dancing for position. Many moments later, out of breath, he releases his grip and staggers backward.

"Okay, we're going to need to try that again," he pants. "The second your mouth touched mine, I forgot what the hell I was supposed to be doing. But I'm ready now, 100%," he proclaims, though he remains bent over with his hands on his knees for support.

She heard it. She felt it. But the very last thing she intends to do tonight is apologize.


End file.
